Non Sequitur
by Separatist Supporter
Summary: The SPARTANs trapped in Onyx have escaped, only to find themselves in one of the last situations they expected. Post Ghosts of Onyx, during the Corellian Trilogy of SW EU. Content added to Prologue and Chapter 1. Chapter 6 complete (for now).
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own neither Halo nor Star Wars. Star Wars is the property of George Lucas and Halo belongs to . . . whoever it belongs to now. Microsoft? 343 Industries? I have no idea.

Word Count: 1,040

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><p>1500 HOURS, JANUARY 7, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)\ONYX SHIELD WORLD<p>

Three months had allowed Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Frederic-104 to closely observe his new command.

He and his fellow SPARTAN-IIs, Kelly and Linda, were handling the situation with the same quiet efficiency as always, though he sometimes felt he was going insane from boredom. Doctor Halsey (she was a civilian though; he could not actually give her orders, though she followed them all the same) and Chief Mendez had made complaints about how a highly advanced civilization could make an actual Dyson sphere, shunt it into an alternate dimension, and the build an artificial planet around it, but not have any coffee or Sweet Williams cigars—respectively—in an attempt at levity and then set about proving that, even if they were both middle-aged, they could pull their own weight. The two Beta Company SPARTANs, Tom and Lucy, seemed more or less at ease with the situation; Fred could only assume it was the result of serving most of their careers as Drill Instructors, rather than field operatives.

The three survivors of Team Saber had initially worried him. They had been distraught by the deaths of their comrades-in-arms longer than he thought they should have—though he conceded that the youngest SPARTANs had not yet had a chance to become inured to it; even as rigorous as the Twos' training had been, it had been unable to accomplish _that_. The Gammas had mostly composed themselves though, and never failed to carry out their assigned tasks. Only Ash remained morose. The III probably saw the deaths of his teammates as a failure on his part as a leader and would need to be convinced otherwise. He would talk to him at the next opportunity.

They had supplemented their supplies with whatever they could forage up or hunt down and determine to be edible with their extremely limited capabilities in that area—difficult, but far better than to risk poisoning that they could not treat. They had run out of ammunition for all of their heavy weapons back in Onyx's core and had had to divide the rounds—less than five hundred in all—from the MA5Ks and MA5Bs evenly amongst themselves. Beyond that, they had three frag grenades between the eight supersoldiers and a pair of Covenant Plasma Rifles that they could not recharge. Their armors were functioning optimally, though that would not last forever. As SPARTANs, they _could_ operate with far less resources than they currently possessed, but no one particularly looked forward to that scenario; it had been drilled into them all to seize and maintain every possible advantage for as long as possible.

His train of thought shifted from who he was with to what they had done during incarceration in the Forerunner facility. In short, the answer was _nothing_. The first two months had dragged on as they trekked across the interior of the Micro Dyson Sphere. A month ago, the group had seen a Forerunner structure through the scope of Linda's rifle. Three more days of travel later, they had arrived. In the intervening time, Doctor Halsey had redoubled her efforts in a still largely fruitless quest to make any of the technology respond, as it had all apparently been locked down. Her only success had been to find an archived file of the Shield World's teleportation grid. They had the location of every structure in their prison, except the exit.

They all knew she was not happy with trying to leave. The SPARTANs had not enjoyed finding out that they had been misled; that they had been brought to Onyx not for a cache of technology, but to survive what the Doctor saw as a lost cause. Intellectually, Fred understood—could even agree with—her reasoning, but that did little to make the facts easier to accept. He was also surprised, and just a little suspicious, at how easily Halsey had acceded to his requests that she discover a way out. It was almost a certainty that she was not telling him something, he just could not think of what it could be.

The SPARTAN officer would have continued to reminisce, had not Mark—Halsey's bodyguard for the current rotation—almost shouted over the COM that the Doctor had found something. Everyone should have heard the exclamation (as the SPARTANs preferred to sleep in full armor since they considered the area hostile territory), so the Lieutenant made a beeline for Halsey's lab. Passing the room that they believed to have once been a mess hall and that they had converted into a combination barracks and armory; he met up with Linda, Tom, and Lucy, the latter two holstering their weapons as they went.

Upon arriving—last, he noted—he took what he hoped to be his last look at anyplace inside the Shield World. The room was twenty meters long, ten meters wide, and five meters high. A meter high, equally wide block, seamlessly merged with the walls and floor, took up the first half of either side of the room. A circular teleportation platform claimed the remaining half. Possessing walls a dull gray in color, it would not have looked out of place in one of the Office of Naval Intelligence's facilities. The differences in the aesthetic of the room and the rest of the compound had been precisely why the Doctor had chosen it: it was different, and builders had paid too much attention to detail for it to be a simple oversight. Fred returned to the task at hand when he realized Doctor Halsey was speaking:

"—the platform behind me is not, in fact, linked to the rest of the Shield World. Its receiving node appears to be in another star system altogether, and these," she gestured at the blocks, currently being used for benches by her audience, "I believe to be its power generators." At this, everyone jumped to their feet and made for the center of the room. "But," she continued, "what you all really desire is, yes, I can activate it, but you will be going in blind."

At this, the others turned to him, awaiting orders. Fred hesitated only a moment before coming to a decision.

"We're going through."


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own neither franchise used here. If I did, they would probably suck.

EtchedInDiamond and DoctorEleven—Thank you, here's more.

Gear2557—They're still in the tubes; they would be OCs anyway and in justifying their presence, they would probably overshadow the canon cast, whose lack of appearances in fanfics is one of my main motivators for writing this.

ODST105—I'm going to assume you thought I was referring to RL release dates, because that's the only way _The Clone Wars_ is after _Return of the Jedi_ (movie) and before _Fate of the Jedi_ (novel series).

Word Count: 1,172

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><p>1550 HOURS, JANUARY 7, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)\ ONYX SHIELD WORLD<p>

Valid arguments had been put forward for every possible combination of scout team, as each of the SPARTANs wanted out of Halo-proof structure as quickly as possible. In the end, Fred decided that he, Linda, and Olivia would go, using one of Katana's Slipspace pods as cover. The Lieutenant's reasoning was simple: the Mark VI armor he and the sniper wore was superior to Kelly's Mark V in all areas, and if the situation arose that stealth was necessary, Olivia had been the best in Gamma Company, if not the entire SPARTAN Corps. Having effectively silenced the others, if mostly just because he outranked them, SPARTAN-104 gave his orders to those who would be remaining behind:

"Once we have gone through, wait five minutes before trying to bring us back. If we don't return then, disable the teleporter—I don't care how, I just want you to do it. Chief Petty Officer Mendez has command until we return and will be your commanding officer in the case we fail to do so."

The commandos who had not been chosen saluted while Halsey just nodded. The Doctor stepped forward with a small chip in her hand—her AI, Jerrod—handed it to Fred, then stepped back and took several seconds to input—and double-check—the necessary information into her laptop.

"It's ready." She said.

Fred nodded in acknowledgement and motioned for the designated SPARTANs to get into position. Olivia stood looking over the center of the pod, MA5K at the ready; Fred and Linda took up firing stances to either side with their backs to her, MA5Bs prepared. Rings of golden light encompassed them, accompanied, as usual, by nausea.

54:4 GRS (18ABY)

Nine-year old Jaina Solo stared in awe at the chamber her younger brother Anakin had found. Everything, save some weird symbols on the viewing platform—which, for reasons she did not know, lacked handrails—was made of, or at least covered in, a silver material. They were at the top of a massive cone shaped cavern; at least, conical was what the smooth, angled walls suggested. She could feel emotions similar to hers, though mixed with a little unease, from her twin Jacen—the anxiety coming from whatever he could see over the edge; probably a _really_ long fall.

"What in the name of _space_ have you children gotten yourselves into now?" It was their tutor's modified astromech droid, Q9-X2.

Jaina felt her twin start at the unexpected interruption. She saw him momentarily close his eyes and lie still, before backtracking to the center of the platform. She found it kind of funny.

"Hello, Q9. Thanks for almost scaring me to death." Jacen said as he sat up.

"Were those thanks sincere, or was that more of this sarcasm business?" the droid queried.

"Oh, sarcasm," Jacen said as he walked back to the hallway where the others were, "Very definitely sar—" A bright yellow flash from the platform he had just left broke his train of thought. Jaina was dimly aware of her brother turning to see what had happened, but she was already staring at the objects that had appeared, seemingly out of thin air.

There was some kind of pod in the middle of the platform, and just looking at it made her a little dizzy. Three green figures were behind it—they looked like droids, but she had enough training in the Force to know they were not. Jaina knew—well, she thought—there was someone in the pod, but the presence seemed off, like it wasn't entirely there. The smallest figure, only slightly shorter than her mother and the only one looking directly at them, wore fluid-looking armor with a bubble-like helmet and carried a rifle of some kind.

As the shortest one lowered their weapon, the other two were turning around. _They_ were almost as tall as Chewie and looked just as strong. The two put their blasters on their backs, in the silence that had persisted since their arrival; Jaina could hear a pair of clicks. Three amber visors stared back at three pairs of eyes and a set of photoreceptors.

Bubble-Helmet placed its weapon on its back too, leapt over the pod, and slowly walked towards them, hands in plain sight. Jaina had broken out of her stupor by then and realized that, despite the armor, the figure was_ completely silent_. He stopped a meter away from them, knelt down, and brought his hands to his helmet. The hissing sound of the suit's seals coming undone was lost in the vast chamber. The face beneath was surprisingly a human woman's; she had close cropped black hair, weary brown eyes, and a dark complexion (1). For whatever reason, Jaina was struck with the crazy impression that the newcomer was not much older than Jacen or herself.

The stranger spoke, but Jaina could not understand the words (2).

1552 HOURS, JANUARY 7, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/ UNKNOWN LOCATION

The gold light faded; the nausea, a heartbeat later. Fred found himself staring at a drop that was easily five hundred meters, at the bottom, he could see six large cones arrayed around a seventh. "Clearly not a natural formation . . ." he heard Jerrod say inside his helmet.

Olivia's voice crackled over the TEAMCOM, more incredulous than concerned: "Sir, you two might want to see this, but turn around _slowly_."

_Not the report I was expecting, _he thought.

As he turned and placed his MA5B on its magnetic plate, he understood why: three _human_ children and some model of jet-black robot were watching them. The kids' ages were between six and ten if he had to guess. Two, of average height or slightly less had brown hair and eyes. The third had a brawny build, blue eyes, and blond hair. The machine was hovering several centimeters off the floor.

The SPARTAN-II did not know how to deal with kids, outside of getting them to the nearest evacuation ship when the Covenant was attacking. He doubted Linda or Olivia knew either, but they had to try.

"Olivia, go over to them. Ask them where we are. Try not to scare them." He ordered. _She's the smallest; she _should_ be the least intimidating._

"Yes Sir," she replied, placing her carbine on her SPI armor's back plate, then lightly jumping over the Slipspace pod and the member of team Katana still trapped within it. As she walked to the other group, he checked the timer on his HUD: 00:04:27 and counting down.

Olivia took off her helmet and asked the children what their names were. _Good, start small, keep them from panicking, _he thought.

He saw a look of confusion flit acrossthe faces of all three, and then the blond boy said something in a language neither he, nor the translator used to eavesdrop on Covenant troops recognized. Fred did not need to look at Linda to know they were thinking the same thing:_ This was a snag._

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><p>(1)—No physical description was ever given for Olivia or Mark, so I'll make them up when I come to it.<p>

(2)—I believe the SPARTANs' manner of arrival takes all the Willing Suspension of Disbelief I'm allowed in one chapter.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Halo is to Microsoft as Star Wars is to George Lucas. Own them I do not.

**A/N:** This has been written since Thursday, but I couldn't finish typing until today.

Responses to reviews:

Just a Crazy-Man, max2000383, and EtchedInDiamond—Thanks, here's more.

Brother of the Moon—Did you receive my e-mail/reply to review/whatever you call it?

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><p>1554 HOURS, JANUARY 7, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)UNKNOWN LOCATION

The situation had gone from unknown . . . well, it was still mostly unknown, but one thing was certain: the Covenant was not here. Calm civilians were generally in short supply with the aliens present. The fact that children were human meant that Fred and the other would probably be safe. That the SPARTANs could not communicate with the kids was problematic; it meant they were not in UNSC territory anymore, but it also precluded a hidden Insurrectionist colony—the SPARTAN officer could not see a reason why a new language would be practical. Still, it needed to be confirmed. _But how?_ Fred wondered.

"Ahem," like he had read the cyborg's mind—actually, he might have—Jerrod, whom Fred had forgotten was in his armor, piped up, "I believe I may be of assistance. I should be able to communicate with the automaton in the group, possibly establish a translation system."

"Do you have the processing power for that?" he asked the AI. Halsey had informed him that the construct's capabilities were below that of a standard artificial intelligence, due to the smaller chip he had been designed for.

"Before?" the program queried, "Perhaps not, but with the MJOLNIR's systems, I should be able to make headway and create one. Now, if you do not mind, I must introduce myself."

Fred refrained from nodding, it would have been pointless, and turned his attention back to the linguistic impasse while Jerrod sent handshake protocols to the foreign drone.

54: 4 GRS (18 ABY)

If Q9-X2 had possessed eyebrows—or anything that qualified as a face for that matter—they would have been raised in shock. One of the newcomers was attempting to contact him, via _radio_ frequencies. A fraction of a second went to the aforementioned equivalent of surprise and another was spent appreciating that his radionics receiver, one of many self-upgrades, was finally going to be used. Eager to learn what light the fellow droid could shed on recent happenings, he established a connection.

Q9-X2: _Greetings._

UNSC AI JRD 4378-2 (1): _Hello, we are new around here, and would appreciate any assistance you can provide._

Q9-X2: _Certainly, as long as it is legal and/or does not otherwise interfere with my orders._

UNSC AI JRD 4378-2: _A translator or sufficient data to create such a program is imperative; a map of the surrounding terrain would also be excellent._

Q9-X2: _I can provide all three._

Q9 was as close to happy as a droid could be: he was making good use of his abilities and he would be able to help another droid do the same.

He had initially speculated that the newcomers might be agents of whomever or whatever was causing Captain Solo's unease, but there was no supporting evidence. An advance team that did not know Galactic Basic would do a very poor job of blending in—one did not need to be Grand Admiral Thrawn to know that. Secondly, if his readings were correct—and Q9 had triple checked them—then the armored figures weapons were slugthrowers, propellant based, most likely. Scans of the larger two were blocked by some model of shielding, but the third was human; admittedly, though, that meant little given the numbers of that particular species in the galaxy. Third, the damage visible on their armor was inconsistent with any weapon Q9 was familiar with; and, when he was made aware he would be around the New Republic's Chief of State, he had made that list long and thorough.

Thus rationalized, he felt safe in telling his counterpart: _Ask away._

UNSC AI JRD 4378-2: _Are we in the territory of the United Nations Space Command?_

Q9-X2: _I have . . . no record at all of any organization by that name._

UNSC AI JRD 4378-2: _Interesting. Where are we and what is the general status of humanity on this planet?_

Q9-X2: _We are currently in a previously unknown, underground facility on the planet Corellia. Humans make up just less than one half of its total sentient population._

UNSC AI JRD 4378-2: _Just under half?_

Q9-X2: _Yes. The Selonians and the Drall—the relevant data is being sent now—are the two other main species, but small numbers of numerous other species are present._

The other entity broke off contact, most likely to tell his masters.

* * *

><p>Fifteen seconds after the AI had departed; Jerrod returned and relayed his information to the SPARTAN. Even with his suspicions, Fred-104 was still surprised.<em> No record of the UNSC at all?<em> At least it appeared they would be safe; once they were out and could acquire supplies and—perhaps, though the Lieutenant knew better than to actually plan on it—help. Then they would find a way back to Earth and continue to defend it. If the Sol system still contained anything other than crushed hopes. If Earth was lost, their recourse was to try to link up with UNSC remnants. What else they could do in that scenario, the supersoldier did not know.

_Enough "ifs,"_ he thought, _the future will wait. Work on the present first._ Fred checked his HUD: 2:00 and counting down. He activated the slipspace pod's propulsion system—it was apparently a quieter model of what the Covenant used in their ground vehicles—and began moving it off the platform.

He activated the TEAMCOM: "Blue 3—scout the area, return before the countdown ends. I'll brief Saber 4 (2)."

Linda nodded in acknowledgement, skirted around the children, and walked down the corridor. Fred stopped guiding the pod and deactivated it; it was clear of the teleportation platform. He activated the MJOLNIR's external speakers and called to Olivia—who was still by the kids, sitting cross-legged and possibly having a staring contest with them—to come over. She complied, asking "Sir?"

Fred reiterated to her what he had been told by Jerrod. If the Gamma Company SPARTAN was fazed by it, she did not show it: her only comment was "The fauna there's not much of a challenge anyways. What are the Rules of Engagement here?"

"I'll tell you along with everyone else once they get here and are briefed on the situation," he said, "but I needed to try and predict how the others would react." Linda came jogging back up the corridor.

"Immediate area clear. Fits with given information. Have to head back now." It was disconcerting to hear her going into sniper mode. A little longer and her communications would just be with her acknowledgment light.

The female SPARTAN-II stepped into the center of the platform. There was the bright flash, and the teleporter was empty.

* * *

><p>Jaina stared at the woman she could not understand. She concentrated and reached out with what skills she had in the Force to try to sense anything about the armored human. She lacked the talent for a deep probe, but what was on the surface was enough. A sense of great loss, subdued but still there; discipline and determination like what she would feel from her mother's Noghri bodyguards; she felt something strange, not deceitful or evil, just a . . . <em>wrongness<em> that was intrinsic to her presence in the Force.

One of the other two went by them and the second called—a gravelly, masculine voice, but the helmet could have been altering it—to the girl, she got up, simultaneously putting on her helmet. They started talking in low voices. _Why,_ she thought,_ did she put on the helmet if they aren't using the comm in their armor? There has to be one._

The two continued on for about two minutes before the third one came back. _How can they be so quiet?_ This one—who sounded like a woman—said something and moved to the platform they had arrived on. There was the same light as before, and she was gone.

"Uh . . . Q9, what happened?" Jacen asked.

"A moment please," the droid replied, "It appears that one went back to inform the rest of their party that it is safe to come here. These three are just a scouting party."

Jaina looked from the conversation between her brother and the experimental astromech droid to see the remaining two move to either side of their group.

The platform flashed again. _That was fast,_ she thought. Three pods and a pair of figures in the bubble-helmet armor stood on the platform. The two quickly cleared off the teleporter, probably for the next group. When _they_ appeared—and they looked just like the first group—they moved off just as swiftly. The third wave though, was really different: four people and one pod. Only two were in armor—one must have been the lady who went back and the other, who was noticeably shorter, wore what looked like a bulkier version of her armor. The other two were definitely human: an older, lean man with silver hair and scars on his face wearing some kind of uniform and a black-haired woman in a coat who looked about as old as Jaina's mother. It was funny really, she looked harmless and the others looked like they beat up Gundarks for fun.

Jaina looked over to the ten armored beings; she could hear them talking amongst themselves. _About what? _she wondered.

* * *

><p>Bringing the others up to date on the situation as they knew it had taken slightly under a minute. Linda, of course, already knew and she had reported most of it to them before they had teleported over. The miscellaneous details that could be filled in were done so by Jerrod, who was the best versed with the information. That taken care of, there was still a few pressing matters.<p>

"Sir, ROE?" Kelly asked.

"Fire only if fired upon," Fred replied, "We have no backup and limited supplies; we can't afford to start a fight. So leave the alien civvies alone." The last statement was meant for himself as much as the others—he could not be certain how any of them would react.

"What do we do about Team Katana and the others?" this from Ash, who up until then had been silent.

"I can answer that," Halsey interjected. The SPARTANs turned to face her. "I still haven't found a way to release them and I cannot get a response from the teleportation system. The controls may be damaged in some way. We can either leave them here or take them with us. From what we know, the latter isn't really feasible."

Fred grimaced; he was afraid of that. He was unwilling to leave anyone behind, but it appeared they had no choice. Besides, they would be safe: the Forerunner made slipspace pods could withstand a nuclear detonation and if a woman who could outsmart AIs was unable to free them, he doubted clumsy archaeologists would fare any better.

"Leave them." he said. The other SPARTANs and Mendez nodded, apparently having arrived at the same conclusion.

"The children and their droid companion are going to leave. I suggest we follow them." Jerrod's British accent came over the MJOLNIR's speakers.

"Understood. Blue Four, Five, Saber Four—take point. Saber One, Saber Three—watch the rear," Fred ordered, "Blue Two, Blue Three—we're in the middle. Chief, Doctor, you're with us."

He promptly received the normal affirmations from everyone and they, equally promptly, moved into position: Tom, Lucy (3), and Olivia up front; the IIs, their trainer, and their creator in the center of the formation; Ash and Mark in the back. As one, they followed the children and their robot down the corridor. Fred noticed that it was about one hundred meters long and made of the same silver material as the chamber they were leaving, and that the material seemed to _be_ the lighting.

The difference between the hallway and the one adjoining it was as great as the one between UNSC and Covenant aesthetic. It was dirt and rock; any lights affixed to it were outshined by the silver material's glow.

The UNSC group stepped out into the tunnel while the brunette boy pressed a button on a panel in the wall. The buttons went from purple to green and a large door on one side slowly swung around. The kid backed away before it completed its arc; when it had, a façade matching the rest of the tunnel slid over it; the keypad was likewise obscured.

The tunnel had almost no light, but there was enough for the SPARTANs' augmented eyes to adjust without the MJOLNIR's flashlights or the SPI armor's VISR mode (4). Halsey's glasses had a similar setting and Mendez . . . well, the day a few shadows bothered the Chief Petty Officer was the day Fred doubted his training.

Fred looked at the tunnel floor and saw boot prints in the dirt. It wouldn't take a genius to follow over a dozen sets back to the door, and more importantly, to Team Katana.

"Saber One, Saber Three—cover the tracks." he ordered.

The two commandos flashed their acknowledgement lights and set about smoothing over the soil while the rest followed their impromptu guides. The walk through the gradually brighter, but still deserted, tunnel was uneventful.

Until, that is, the IIIs on point darted to the sides of the cave. Olivia went to the right, MA5K up and ready; Tom and Lucy moved to the left, the mute SPARTAN getting down on one knee with her own carbine while her companion moved in front of her, drawing and aiming his M6D. All three activated their camouflage and in the low light, even Fred could not see them.

"Single contact, unknown. Around the bend." Tom reported.

Fred and the others followed their lead, prepping their rifles or sidearms.

The children noticed this and the two that looked like twins seemed about to panic, before collecting themselves and saying something to the droid.

Jerrod's voice went off in his head, with an urgency Fred had not heard from the AI before: "Don't shoot! It's their mother!"

"Stand down SPARTANs," the lieutenant ordered. To himself, he wondered how the children could know who it was when they could not possibly see the figure.

* * *

><p>Jacen led his siblings, Q9, and the soldiers back up the tunnels. He had noticed their footprints about the same time the guys in armor had, but two of them had gone to deal with it, so he had said nothing. The trek back was quiet—he could not believe so many large humans in such a confined space could be so silent.<p>

The younger Solo twin considered what they had: Q9 had taken scans of the chamber, teleporter, pods, and the newcomers. They could wait until they were back at the villa to say anything about the first three, but the people . . . they would be a very hard secret to keep.

Jacen was not sure what to make of them. They were all, except maybe the lady in the coat, clearly military; but the ones in armor were unlike anyone else he had ever seen. They moved with a fluid, precise grace that the child had only seen in Noghri and his Uncle Luke. Their discipline was even stronger. _Or maybe,_ he thought, _it's because they don't have any attachment to us. They don't mean us any harm, either._

Jacen could feel his mother's presence in the force getting closer to them. He—and Jaina too—could sense her wariness; it was easy to understand: she could sense her children, and ten more extremely alert—and dangerous—presences around them. However subtle they were in their movements, they were still visible in the Force.

Almost immediately after he thought that, the foreigners moved to the sides of the tunnel; the lead three seemed to vanish into thin air.

The twins could guess what they were thinking. As one, they turned to Q9, saying:

"It's just Mom!"

"Tell them not to shoot!"

For several terrifying seconds, it seemed nothing happened. Then, the large ones lowered their weapons and the others faded back into view.

Just after that, their mother appeared around the corner. She knelt down and drew the trio into an embrace. Then she whispered to them: "Is there something you three want to tell me?"

* * *

><p>(1)—Jerrod has no serial #, so I made one up.<br>(2)—They have been assigned a # because I think the SPARTANs would stay professional. Olivia's is pretty much random. If it is preferred, I can switch to Blue 1-8.  
>(3)—After all those two have survived; I think they have earned a spot on Blue Team.<br>(4)—GoO was concurrent with Halo 2 and thus ODST; I figure, if the Helljumpers have it, so would the IIIs.

**A/N:** Hopefully, this shall be the general length of future chapters. Now review (please), and tell me how I did.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Mine. *ODSTs and BXs break down door* Kidding! KIDDING! _STAY BACK!_

**A/N:** I thought the first part of this chapter was slightly silly, but I think I resolved it by the end.

Responses to Reviews:

Bobbish—Thanks, that was my rationale as well.

Zammy and WildCard-Yes Man—Thanks, here's more.

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><p>1600 HOURS, JANUARY 7, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)\ CORELLIA<p>

"Tell me again who this woman is," Fred told Jerrod.

"She is Leia Organa-Solo, the children's mother and, perhaps more importantly, the Chief of State of the New Republic—the reigning government of much of the galaxy, apparently." the AI replied.

_She could help us, _the Lieutenant thought, _but governments tend not to be altruistic._ A similar conversation appeared to be occurring in the other group. He took a quick look at the on his HUD representing the translation program: 1.32%. The task would not have taken long for a "smart" AI or a "dumb" one dedicated to cryptanalysis—especially since they had been given the information on a silver platter, as it were—but Jerrod was neither.

"I imagine she wants an explanation," he stated matter-of-factly. Jerrod gave an affirmative. "Just don't give her anything classified—or even particularly specific. We don't know enough to trust her."

"Understood." The AI replied. He went silent as he diverted processing power to the task.

Just like Kurt always had a feeling about prospective ambush sites, Fred could not help but think their stay on Corellia would go badly.

54:4 GRS (18 ABY)

"They say they are a Special Forces team from a government called the United Nations Space Command. Apparently, they were dispatched to retrieve a cache of advanced technology on another planet. While there, the group was attacked by the faction they were to use the technology against. Their commanding officer ordered them to utilize a teleportation system to fallback to another, secure installation while he remained behind and detonated several salvaged fusion warheads, destroying what remained of the hostile ground forces as well as the teleporter node. They claim to have wandered around the second facility for several standard months before finding a system that brought them here." Q9 recited, "As near as my scans can confirm, they are telling the truth."

Leia nodded, thinking. She had experienced much since she had first taken part in the Rebellion over two decades ago; compared to some of those experiences, the strangers' story—incomplete as she did not doubt it was—made far more sense. That they did not understand Galactic Basic or recognize her (career and family had all but insured her face was one of the most well-known in the galaxy); and how their equipment ranged from primitive to esoteric (1), she was inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt.

They had not tried to attack when they had the chance—nor did they show any inclination in the Force to do so now—despite their numerical superiority, the fact that they were all armed with weapons a lightsaber would be ineffective against, had she even had it with her. In fact, asides from something feeling off about several of them, all Leia could sense from them was a level of suspicion higher than what she considered normal for military personnel. _But normally, communication doesn't require a translator, _she mused.

"What are they planning to do now and is there any way we can help?" she asked the droid.

Q9 was silent for a moment, then responded: "They say they plan to gather information from local sources before finding a way to return to their commanders; several, it seems, were pulled from a major engagement to be sent on their last mission."

Leia wondered how they would be able to do that if they could not understand anyone, but decided not to ask; she probably would not receive a straight answer anyway. She did, however, understand their distrust of "official" help; she had been in similar situations herself.

An awkward silence descended upon the tunnel as neither group seemed to have anything else to say; it was made worse by the soldiers' opaque, reflective visors never moving from her. Leia found it somewhat unnerving, but years of politics gave her the skill not to let it show.

She gathered up her children and led them back, Q9, and—at a discreet distance—one of the troopers following. The walk back to the others was uneventful. Han, Ebrihim, Chewbacca, "General" Yarar, and several of his lackeys were all happy to see that the children had been found.

She felt their follower start through the Force, before the mental outburst was quickly clamped down on, returning to the same calm, disciplined mindset he had prior to it. _What caused that?_ she wondered.

The reunited Solo family and the Drall tutor bid farewell—though, as they had been throughout the tour, Ebrihim and the Wookiee were ignored by their hosts—and headed back to their airspeeder (2).

Han had just gotten them airborne when Leia heard Jaina ask: "Something wrong Q9?"

The droid's somewhat terse response: "I was just asked how to hotwire a landspeeder."

_Oh my._

* * *

><p>Tom-B292 relaxed slightly when Fred ordered them to stand down. But only slightly: their training had drilled into them that machines were easily fooled, and commonsense said not to trust an unknown source—he had, after all, been on both the giving and receiving ends of ambushes that had succeeded in part because those two philosophies were not taken to heart. He would have preferred to have checked the tunnel himself.<p>

The new addition to the other group was talking to the robot—or, for all he knew, it was going off on tangents and she was trying to get to the point. Being unable to understand what they were saying was . . . annoying, in the least. It was much easier with the Covenant: war needed no interpreter. They shot at him, he shot at them.

The woman and the droid finished their conversation and it became so quiet Tom could faintly hear Ash and Mark obscuring their tracks farther back. The woman gathered up the kids and the group started back the way she had come.

"Blue Four—follow them, keep in contact with us." Fred ordered.

"Yes Sir." He replied without hesitation.

The SPARTAN set off after them, sticking to the shadows and with photoreactive panels ready for use at a moment's notice. He trailed close enough behind to keep them in full view, but at such a distance that even without the SPI armor's attributes he would be difficult to discern.

The path the group was taking was devoid of any other sentient life. Several times they passed partially excavated chambers and Tom could make out ancient, rusted machines and semi-unearthed skeletons; some looked human, others were clearly not. Just like Linda had told them back in the Shield World.

Eventually, the tunnel's lighting improved and he could hear the sounds of mining equipment at work. The ONI team in Zone 67 back on Onyx had rarely, if ever, used heavy equipment—and they had been uncovering a city. _Archaeologists my ass,_ he thought,_ they're after something, probably what we just came through._ He activated the panels and continued after the locals, no one noticing that a shadow had apparently taken on a life of its own.

The group they met up with was mostly human, one with a black vest and pants which had a pair of red stripes and three in dark brown uniforms, one of whom, slightly overweight Tom noted, possessed an elaborate insignia on the one shoulder he could see. The other members of group made him reflexively go for his M6D: one looked like a lanky, overly-hairy Brute; the other—a Drall, if their information was right—did not appear as threatening; it was shorter than the average Grunt and covered in gray fur.

"Spotted two aliens; no signs of aggression." he reported over the TEAMCOM.

The first group joined up with the aliens and casually dressed human, said something to the other three, and started off, Tom following. It was not far, the entrance led to a clearing in a forest; no two vehicles parked in it looked alike—none of them had wheels, either; a break in the tree line on one side presumably indicated a road. He watched the group as they piled into a transport that looked like it could be pressurized. The vehicle rose into the air, its propulsion systems surprisingly quiet. _Interesting,_ he thought. Most of the other craft were open topped, definitely not meant to fly. If the map they had been given by the droid was accurate, it would take them several days to reach the nearest city on foot.

The III sprinted from the entrance of the dig site to the woods, not wishing to stay in the open any longer than necessary. Once he was in cover, Tom opened the TEAMCOM again, "Sir, I think I've the solution to our first problem."

1610 HOURS, JANUARY 7, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/CORELLIA

It had taken several minutes for everyone else to meet up with the Beta SPARTAN: the other IIIs simply activated their SPI armor while Halsey and Mendez acted like tourists; the IIs had some close calls—MJOLNIR armor was not exactly inconspicuous in broad daylight—but had managed to arrive undetected. Now, all—save Lucy, who was taking a closer look at the "speeders"—were in the shadows of the trees, debating the best way to commandeer a form of transportation.

"So the droid wouldn't give you any tips?" Olivia queried.

"No. Jerrod said he took offense at being asked." Fred replied. "Anyone else have an idea?"

Lucy's acknowledgement light flashed green. The small SPARTAN was walking back towards them, making hand signs almost as fast as Doctor Halsey could type. Tom, the most proficient at reading them, translated: "The controls layouts are about the same as a Warthog's; she's already hotwired one. Some of the others still have keys in the ignition (3)."

Kelly sighed and muttered "You know, I wanted a challenge." The other commandos nodded in agreement.

"Which ones?" Fred asked. He wanted to get out of the area as soon as possible.

Lucy kneeled down and drew a square in the soil; a small triangle indicated where they were in relation to the speeders they were after. Clusters of simple symbols—dashes, crosses, and dots—began to fill the square.

"The crosses can be hotwired, the dashes have keys, and the dots are ones she doesn't think can be used." Tom relayed. Lucy nodded once. "This," he said, pointing to a cross close to their triangle, "is ready to go."

Fred got up, having committed the diagram to memory, and looked at the assorted transports. Lucy's speeder was navy blue and sleek, possessing two seats and covered in scratches and dents. He looked over the others they could use: a blocky beige truck that probably could carry them all if it was empty, but was unlikely to have the kind of speed they would need; a dull red model with four seats; and something that looked like the bastard offspring of a Revenant and a 'Hog, colored gray and also seating four were closest. His main concern with the smaller craft was whether or not they could take over half a metric ton of SPARTAN. They were far enough away from the site's entrance that he felt they could try it. He gestured for Lucy, Ash, and Olivia to come over.

"We'll take the one you've already prepped," he said to the mute SPARTAN, "you two will take the gray and red." He pointed to the two speeders. To the others he announced, "Get ready to move."

The trio broke cover, camo engaged, and moved to a vehicle. It took roughly twenty seconds, but once they had them started, the rest of the group moved out. Tom joined up with Lucy; Mark, Linda, and Halsey boarded the gray speeder now piloted by Ash; Fred, Kelly, and Mendez were with Olivia in the red craft. They set off out of the clearing and down the road without a hitch.

* * *

><p>Several standard minutes after the UNSC personnel had departed unnoticed, General Yarar came out of the complex, both for a breath of fresh air and to oversee the unloading of more equipment. He was walking towards the large airspeeder, load lifter droids already congregating around it, when he stumbled. Looking down at the imprint in the dirt, he wondered: <em>Since when do Wookiees wear boots?<em>

Several hours later, Yarar was moving across the clearing. His stint as head of the dig site was over for the time being, and he was looking forward to sleeping somewhere with a functioning cooling unit. He reached into his pocket for the keys to his speeder. He found them, but realized something else: the speeder was gone.

_Kriff it,_ he thought.

1900 HOURS, JANUARY 7, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/CORELLIA  
>Basic-English translation program—21.73% complete.<p>

While in the Shield World, Tom had managed to convince Fred that Lucy was sane. As the SPARTAN-II watched her driving, he started to doubt that assertion. The Betas' vehicle was traveling at speeds that made a boosting Ghost look sedate and cutting turns he did not believe were possible.

Of course, the only reason Fred could tell what she was doing was because Olivia drove the same way. Ash too, if Linda's occasional curse was any indication. He brought up the TEAMBIO function on his HUD—the IIIs' stats were only slightly elevated; comparatively, the IIs were panicked. He briefly wondered if Kurt had trained them to drive like maniacs.

As reckless as their driving was, it had greatly reduced the time to their destination—what was originally a three day walk (the SPARTANs could have done it in one, if Halsey and Mendez were to be carried all the way) was now a mere eight hours for a normal human. And walk they would, since taking a stolen vessel into an urban area would not be particularly conducive to their continued anonymity.

The speeders began to slow and then turned down a side road—one that probably led to a farm or small town. Fred did not particularly care, so long as it threw any pursuers off their trail. The group dismounted their transports, weapons ready.

Fred looked up at the evening sky. _Excellent,_ he thought. He turned to his SPI armored subordinates, "Blue Four, Blue Five, Sabers—fan out. I want to avoid running into anyone." The IIIs flashed their acknowledgement lights and disappeared into the woods. They would spread out in such a way that their motion trackers would overlap just enough for complete coverage of their group. At a prompt from the Lieutenant, they set off at a pace that would not be unduly difficult for the Doctor or the Chief Petty Officer.

54:4 GRS (18 ABY) Evening, same day.

The children had been put to bed, Ebrihim was sleeping on a couch, and Q9-X2 was powered down. Chewbacca watched the surrounding area with such a steely gaze that anyone who made it through the CorSec perimeter would have gone straight back to them. Leia had gone to her improvised office, dealing with the constantly spawning paperwork that followed the Chief of State, even on vacation. Han Solo was restless.

The kids, with specifics provided by Q9, had filled them in on what had happened at the dig site. No one had known what the chamber was for or who the humans in armor were—surprising, when one considered the collective experience of everyone present. They might have even found something that could stump Threepio, had the protocol droid been with them. Han could not help but grin at the thought of the gold nuisance not having a response.

Han firmly believed that the hidden installation was related to the growing unrest in the Corellian Sector. At least when the hammer dropped, he would have that much more information to give to Kalenda, the New Republic Intelligence agent secretly watching the villa.

As much as he wished otherwise, he had a sinking feeling he would be doing just that all too soon.

* * *

><p>(1) This is my explanation as to why personal energy shields (save for droidekas) never appear in books. If it doesn't rival hydrogen in ubiquity, it gets lost to history.<br>(2) The author of the Corellian trilogy refers the speeders as hovercars and aircars. It's all semantics, but "speeder" is probably what everyone knows best and doesn't sound like it's from a B-list movie.  
>(3) I have no idea how speeders start, so I'm BSing it.<p> 


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own neither franchise. We must all bow to Microsoft and George Lucas.

**A/N: **This chapter was delayed by school letting out and my becoming more erratic because of that.

Responses to reviews:

Just a Crazy-Man—Thanks.

Dusel—Here's MOOOAAARRR!

WildCard-Yes Man—Thanks, and to your question, the answer is **[Information Redacted]** followed by a massive amount of ass kicking!

Brother of the Moon—Funny was the intent, glad to see I can get it right occasionally.

* * *

><p>2217 HOURS, JANUARY 7, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)CORELLIA  
>Basic-English Translation Program—42.19% Complete<p>

The trip through the forest was swift. The SPARTANs were silent despite their speed and bulk; their motion trackers allowed them to avoid anyone else wandering through the woods. The deepening shadows and their temperature regulating armor hid them from prying eyes and sensors, if there were any.

As the trees thinned out though, their progress slowed. They crept through low-growing shrubs and sparse crops, skirting roads and small settlements when they could. When such a route was not possible, they passed through so quickly any onlookers would have dismissed them as figments of their imaginations.

The rural scenery gave way to decrepit suburbs, these more difficult to sneak through. Some houses were clearly abandoned—broken doors and windows, holes in the roofs, overgrown lawns—and more were on the way, but most still had occupants. There was little cover, forcing the SPARTANs to take a more circuitous route than before as a precaution—though they saw few on the streets, and all of them were human. Halsey and Mendez might have been able to walk in the open, but it meant little else. Several times, one of the supersoldiers thought they had been spotted and all readied to run or fight, but nothing came of the alerts.

At present, they were traversing the city, sticking to the shadows of back alleys and derelict buildings. There were more pedestrians here than in the outlying areas, but still far less than Kelly had seen in equivalent sized UNSC cities during operations against the Insurrection (granted, the Ops had all been covert; if it had been known what was happening, the streets would probably have been just as empty) especially since the taste in the air and the distant sound of crashing waves meant this one was located on the coast.

Peering out from an alley to check for interlopers, she saw that almost every building on either side of the street was boarded up. Kelly decided it was safe and motioned for the others to spread out. The section of the city they had been through had fallen on hard times, but where they were now was worse—even the vagrants had left. If they were careful, a base of operations here could be kept hidden easily.

Olivia's status light blinked twice—she had found a building that fit their needs. The structure was three stories tall with boarded up windows and heavy padlocks on its two doors. As one of the tallest on the street, it would allow the snipers to make better use of their talents, if worse came to worse (and they could find ammunition or replacements for the rifles).

Doctor Halsey had activated her laptop and was scanning for any electronic security measures. When her search came up empty, she nodded for Ash to remove the lock; the Gamma fiddled and pried on it for several minutes before admitting defeat. Mark stepped up and smacked it once with the butt of his sniper rifle. The rusting apparatus gave way with a dull-sounding snap and fell to the ground. Kelly brought her MA5B up and gently opened the door. The IIIs ducked in after her, with Fred bringing up the rear and Linda guarding Halsey and Mendez outside. The building was declared clear in thirty seconds. _We're getting sloppy, _Kelly noted,_ it should have taken twenty, tops._

The structure had no lighting, though this was irrelevant to them all, be it because of a helmet function or augmented vision; also superfluous was the absence of heating and cooling systems, since their armor regulated temperature; lack of water was a problem that would have to be solved, but with an outside source. Using the utilities at all would likely compromise their security.

Jerrod informed them that the planet had a twenty-five hour day and that the translation program would be completed at approximately 0745 hours the next day. The SPARTANs handed their helmets over to Doctor Halsey to change the mission clocks, which were only set with the UNSC's twenty-four hour military time.

A watch schedule was quickly established: two supersoldiers would take up lookout positions on the roof, rotating with another pair every two hours. Tom and Lucy had volunteered for the first shift; the other three groups would have a II and a III. Kelly leaned up against the door they had entered through, listening to the occasional creak from the floorboards as the two Betas made their way upwards. She set her HUD to insure that she woke in four hours and closed her eyes.

1027 HOURS, JANUARY 8, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/CORELLIA  
>Basic-English Translation Program—Complete<p>

The night had passed peacefully, with none of the watches reporting anything more threatening than the planet's equivalent of stray cats. The commandos were up and alert at 0730 hours, the Twos and Gammas having pulled a single shift and the Betas just finishing their second time on watch. The first six had effectively slept in (a fact Mendez, who awoke thirty minutes earlier, was unlikely to ever let them live down) because without the translator, the reliability of any reconnaissance would be marginal.

With the immediate security risks passed, their primary objectives were to gather information and, because the MREs they had remaining would not last long enough, to procure some of the local currency for resupply. The paltry sum of credits and "decicreds" they currently possessed—taken from the speeders they had commandeered or picked up off the ground along the way—were likely insufficient to the task. The Lieutenant wanted the money acquired legally, if possible.

The soldiers were able to carry out some basic maintenance on their equipment before the AI announced the translator was finished (at exactly 0745 hours). The program was quickly uploaded into the IIs' MJOLNIR armor. The IIIs' SPI armor, however, had too little processing space—it took Halsey thirty minutes to remove the Covenant translator and install the new one. Another half hour passed before the Doctor could correctly pronounce around a dozen different phrases.

After that, they were given their orders. The Threes—designations Blue Four, Five and Saber One through Three—and Doctor Halsey would split into pairs and scout the area, returning in eight hours to make their reports. The IIs, for obvious reasons would stay at their base; CPO Mendez remained there primarily because they had no way for him to read anything. Translations could be overlaid on the SPARTANs' HUDs or Dr. Halsey's glasses, but he had nothing of the sort. Both of the unarmored humans had an earpiece linked to Jerrod in Fred's MJOLNIR (the Doctor's was actually part of her glasses) to provide both a translation and response, if the few they had memorized were not enough.

Such was the situation as Olivia knew it as she trailed the Doctor. The two had chosen to head east for their reconnaissance, with the other Gammas moving west and the Betas going north. The Gamma leapt from rooftop to rooftop—or occasionally to a windowsill—as silently as ever, unfazed by the drops or shallow handholds, though when she jumped, she activated the photoreactive panels; anyone below her would be none the wiser.

A chanting reached her ears, along with the sound of a large number of people trying—and failing—to march in time to each other. She stopped, sending a com click to Halsey signaling her to do the same. Olivia's first theory was that the approaching group was some kind of parade—she did not know how a civilian one would go, since the SPARTAN Corps' idea of precision was far above everyone else's—but she discarded the notion when she saw the locals on the street below make haste into whatever shelter they could find, the Doctor following their lead and entering what the III's HUD tagged as a computer store just before the owner locked the place down. _Protest? Mob? Riot? _she wondered. She switched off the safety on her carbine and sat down to wait.

The marchers soon came into her field of view. Clad in brown uniforms and black boots like the workers at the dig site, their "singing" incomprehensible to the translator, the mob threw whatever debris they had with them at any unprotected window.

Olivia activated the helmet's 5x magnification, zooming in on the crowd for a better look. All were human and the majority was men. Each wore a black armband emblazoned with a human skull with a knife in its teeth. The words "Human League" were overlaid against the symbols below the insignia by her HUD. _This bears investigating, _she thought. Though she was particularly interested in why _other humans_ were obviously terrified of them—if it went beyond the obvious property damage.

The young soldier watched them pass, unobserved and unimpressed by the Leaguers. The more she saw, the less favorably she viewed them. The uniforms were shoddily made (boot camp from Hell gave one an appreciation for quality) and most carried bottles of liquor in varying stages of being emptied—the odor gave them away. The last time she had experienced the smell, Gamma Company was being taught to make Molotov cocktails and IEDs.

Finally, the riotous mass left. Olivia saw Doctor Halsey exit the shop with a small bag in one hand in the alley nearest her perch. The SPARTAN-III dropped to the ground without making a sound and hid herself in a doorframe.

"Doctor," she whispered, "do you know what that was about?"

"The Human League," Halsey responded, "the largest of numerous private militia groups on Corellia; its notoriety stems from its recruitment of social malcontents and its anti-alien stance. Purportedly, it funds the excavation of the site we arrived at."

"Quantity over quality." The Gamma stated simply, before moving on to another topic. "What's in the bag and did all our money go to getting it?"

The Doctor shrugged, "Components with which I should be able to modify my laptop to interface with the more complex systems here. The store is going out of business and the owner is trying to sell everything—I managed to haggle it down to twenty percent of what he asked for. There are some credits left over."

Olivia noted that the last half of her question was not actually answered, but let it slide. Instead she said "Let's go ma'am. We still have a job to do."

1144 HOURS, JANUARY 8, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/CORELLIA

Mark, arms crossed, leaned against one of the buildings he had been between when the marchers had arrived. A malfunction in his SPI armor's camouflage system meant he was clearly visible to all. Not that any of the malcontents seemed inclined to bother him—in fact, they gave him a wide berth and quieted down enough so that as the rear of the group arrived, his translation program could actually function.

Most of the results it gave him consisted of warnings to others not to irritate the "Mandalorian," by which Mark could only assume they meant him. The rest were the now more quietly recited lyrics of their chant—almost all of which were obscene and/or anti-alien. Given the III's past experiences with other sentient species, that troubled him far less than everything else about them.

After the crowd had passed, a jump—courtesy of his augmented muscles—and several seconds of climbing later put him on the roof of the building with Ash. While the two could have spoken over the TEAMCOM, the frequency might not be restricted to military use like it was in the UNSC. A small risk perhaps, but not one they would take without good reason.

"So Boss," Mark began, slightly sarcastically, "government sanctioned or Innie?"

"If the New Republic's standards were _that_ low, they'd never have gotten as big as the droid in the cave said they were. Or the rest of the galaxy are pushovers who'd never survive the Covenant." His fireteam leader deadpanned.

"Yeah," the sniper agreed. "Any idea what a Mandalorian is? And what's with their mantra; it seemed more like 'humans are superior' rather than—"

"Aliens are genocidal fanatics." They finished in unison.

"We need more information." The other Gamma paused briefly, and then spoke again, "We have seventy-six minutes before we should start back. Maybe we'll find something."

Mark nodded and stepped to the side so his superior could take point.

1533 HOURS, JANUARY 8, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/CORELLIA

Fred listened to the Gammas and Halsey—Tom and Lucy had yet to return, but their vitals were so close to normal that he was not worried—as they made their reports.

They were, unsurprisingly, very similar. Everything they had seen was dilapidated—and SPARTANs could cover a good deal of ground in a few hours. Information Halsey had gathered from talkative locals was that intersystem trade (the driving force of Corellia's economy) had dropped severely in recent years.

The Human Leaguers, who had passed by the hideout earlier, were but one group to appear afterwards. From their attire, no one was surprised that they worked the dig site, though they all doubted that the place was actually for archaeology. The eight UNSC personnel had quickly developed a low opinion of the group (mostly due to their lack of professionalism), but if they could get an FTL capable ship and supplies from them, they would try. The allegedly pro-human Empire they kept calling for a return to was also extremely interesting.

Mark's being misidentified as a Mandalorian (whatever that was—the cultural information Jerrod had been given did not extend beyond the Corellian system) would greatly increase their mobility. Unless, of course, the misnomer resulted in them getting mobbed by a group armed with actual weapons. If the Doctor could modify her laptop like she said she could (and Fred had every reason to believe her), they would be able to find out.

As they were finishing up, the two Betas returned, Tom with a sack of some sort in his hand. To a regular human, the duos' movements would have looked normal (by the standards of the supersoldiers' too fluid, too precise gait). To another SPARTAN, however, it was apparent that both were agitated—Lucy somewhat more so than her teammate.

"What happened?" Fred asked them.

"Some local idiot," Tom responded, "tried to mug Lucy. With this." The taller of the pair pulled an object off the left thigh plate of his armor—a knife. Tom continued: "She beat him unconscious. Then we dragged him into an abandoned building, woke him up, interrogated him, knocked him out when we were done, and took whatever we thought would be useful off him. Lucy's just upset that the scumbag thought he could actually take her on." The Three finished as he put the sack on the floor.

Upon closer inspection, Fred found that the sack was in fact a jacket, stained with mud. In it was a pair of worn boots, pants, and a shirt; along with several of what his HUD declared to be low denomination credits.

"What did he tell you?" the Lieutenant queried.

"Not much. When he came to, he whimpered 'Briika' and babbled on about how the 'Yarrock' made him do it. Then he begged me not to kill him. Didn't stop 'til Lucy whacked him in the back of the head with her M6. He exhibited none of the cues we were taught to look for to indicate lying, so he probably wasn't lucid." the Petty officer replied.

"What did you find on your recon?" Fred asked.

"A rundown neighborhood; nervous, destitute civilians; a seedy looking bar with the speeder Lucy hijacked parked right outside and some of the excavation site personnel going in." the Beta responded dutifully.

From the tone of his voice, the III thought the last sight was just a curiosity—the route they had taken, unlike the others', had avoided the Leaguers. To everyone else present, the information was far more crucial.

_A place to start looking, at least, _Fred thought,_ but we'll have to be subtle._ He examined the clothes that had been brought back. They were too small for Kelly, Linda, or himself, too large for Halsey, Lucy or the Gammas. He could tell that just by looking at them. Tom would stand out as badly in them as any of them would in their armor, due to his pale complexion. That left only . . .

Fred looked over at the Chief Petty Officer. Mendez, sharp-witted as always, put two and two together and glared at the Lieutenant.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I didn't really like writing this chapter, and the next doesn't look good either, but after that the Spartans will hook up with the Solos and I have a better idea of how to proceed. In other news, Halo 4 means I'll have to slap an AU tag on the sequel(s).

I know there are other readers out there, so would you please review?


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: When Ahsoka has officially been eaten alive by Grunts, _maybe_ I will own them. Until then, Halo=Microsoft and Star Wars=George Lucas.

**A/N:** Remember when I said the SPARTANs would be back with the Solos next chapter? I have now lied. And it will be just as long a gap between CH 5 and 6 as it was between 4 and 5.

Responses to reviews:

Just a Crazy-Man, max2000383, SQUEE, 6tailedninja, Zxha—Thanks.

Anonymous—Thanks; and I agree with your reaction when people _fail to do the research._-Seriously, f*** you, you lazy sacks of shit.

Bobbish—Your wish is my command, but only because I was already planning to do something like that.

DrMckay—Thank you; I will try my hardest for good character development.

Cool 5174—I'm going to translate your comment into something that makes grammatical sense. "You are stupid; the Chief is in charge of the SPARTANs. He was their TRAINER." Fred was promoted to Lieutenant Junior Grade by Kurt before going into the shield world. Mendez is a Chief Petty Officer. Lt. (JG) outranks CPO.

* * *

><p>2311 HOURS, JANUARY 8, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDER)CORELLIA

The lead they had on the League, however tenuous, needed to be followed. With that in mind, the Lieutenant had ordered the two Betas back to the bar to observe, though they were to maintain radio silence unless he contacted them or something happened. The duo had taken a pair of MREs each (as they had no idea how long they would be watching the place), several credits, and the transponder from Kelly's armor—they would use it to track a confirmed high value target, if the opportunity arose. The two left just as the Doctor had brought out her computer and the parts she had acquired.

It took Halsey and Jerrod (and thus, Fred) the rest of the day and into the night to modify her laptop. Once completed though, the Artificial Intelligence was able to provide a fairly detailed briefing of the galactic and recent history. What they found, suffice to say, would have shocked them—if they hadn't spent the last several months in an artificial planet.

Millions of species. Fleets larger than the one the IIs had destroyed in OPERATION: First Strike. _Planetary shields_ that could stop an orbital bombardment in its tracks. Planet killing space stations the size of moons (1).

To their disappointment though, the current state of affairs did not suggest that any faction capable of helping them would do so. The New Republic's military, while likely many times the size needed to repulse the Covenant (if the civilian accessible files were accurate), was hampered by a bureaucracy with a demonstrated tendency to try and ignore problems (up to and including _genocide_ (2)) in favor of their own interests. The Imperial Remnant—though they still called themselves the Galactic Empire—was insular, paranoid (justifiably so, it seemed), and only twenty-five percent larger than the UNSC was before the War. The Corporate Sector's military record was abysmal. Of course, they had to find a way back to Earth before they bothered with seeking assistance.

Of more immediate application was the knowledge that Mandalorians were a nomadic warrior culture infamous for their combat prowess and nearly impenetrable armor. The SPARTANS did not quite look the part, but they were close enough that it was unlikely anyone would bother them.

After making certain the information was accurate—which, given the size of the Holonet and Jerrod's reduced capabilities, took several minutes—the Lieutenant contacted Tom and Lucy, both for a situation report and to forward pertinent data.

* * *

><p>The two Betas, this time knowing where to go, had made far better time than on their earlier scouting mission. Once they had returned to their previous stopping place on the roof of the building across the street from the cantina—they did not know what the structure had originally been as, like most others on the street, it was vacant and boarded up—they set up to watch.<p>

Lacking any actual equipment for such a task, "set up" meant sitting down, activating the 2x zoom and smart link on their sidearms, holding them over the wall, and scanning back and forth with them. If someone or something of possible interest appeared, or a low flying airspeeder came too close to their position, both of them would enable their photoreactive panels and move to get a better view or hide, respectively. The system was hardly ideal, but they could not risk wearing out the SPIs' systems or giving away their presence from sunlight reflecting off their armor.

They worked like this for the remaining daylight hours. Other than the establishment's name and that of the street, they found that the clientele was either human or extremely close in appearance, and that most of them looked as seedy as the cantina.

When it was dark enough for them to move without being spotted—aided in part by a thick cloud cover that had rolled in earlier—Lucy dropped down to ground level and made her way across the street. She memorized the business hours, which had been on a wall they were unable to see from their original vantage point, before creeping into an alley and signing them to Tom. He remained on the roof, though now directly observing those below. As a matter of course, he kept his carbine beside him, safety off.

Tom saw the TEAMCOM light brighten in his peripheral vision and opened the channel, Lucy's status light on his heads up display signaling that his partner had done the same.

"Sir?" he asked. Unless something had gone horribly wrong, the Lieutenant would be the only one who would be contacting them. And possibly one of the few who _could_, as Lucy had been checking over every frequency her helmet had access to and had yet to find any traffic (3).

"Report, 4." His superior said.

"It's called the 'Mynock's Haven (4)'," he began, "and closes at 0100 hours. The speeder's still here, but no one in League livery has entered or left since we've been on station."

There was a pause, then: "Understood. We have the data on Mandalorians—you should be able to move about in the open without being bothered. Go inside when circumstances allow and record the layout, I have a plan."

The Petty officer was about to reply when the door to the bar opened. He activated the magnification feature in his helmet and looked down at them. Five humans, four of them male, two dressed in the League's—or at least the dig site's—uniform. Tom did not recognize either of them, but the overweight plainclothes was familiar . . . _in fact, _the SPARTAN thought, _wearing the uniform and a shoulder piece, he would look just like the apparent director of the mine. _And he was heading for the speeder.

He immediately signaled Lucy, who was apparently thinking along the same lines. She moved from her hiding place, barely discernible to him between the shadows and her armor's photoreactive panels, towards the transport. At this hour, the street was almost deserted and so she had no trouble slipping the activated beacon into a rusted tear in the speeder's chassis. By the time high value target arrived at his vehicle, the supersoldier was back in the alley.

Tom checked his Heads up Display to make certain the tracker was broadcasting before reopening TEAMCOM.

"Sir," he said, "transponder is attached to an HVT's vehicle and is active. Confirm?"

"Confirmed. Complete your other objective, Blue Five will continue to monitor the area. Once that has been accomplished, return to your post." The order was a little inconvenient given their current positions, but would be far faster (and easier) than having Lucy sign it out to him while he relayed it to the Lieutenant.

The two flashed their acknowledgment lights and the SPARTAN-II closed the line. Tom continued to watch as Lucy swiftly returned to the roof of the building. He gave her his carbine and M6D—loathe as he was to part with them, no one obviously armed had entered the cantina the entire time they had been watching it and he felt it best to avoid drawing extra attention to himself—and they exchanged a brief nod before he activated his camo system and leapt onto the neighboring building. He repeated this, augmented body making the jumps effortless and years of training making him silent, for about a block when he finally dropped down into an alley. The panels deactivated several seconds later and he emerged on the sidewalk. The walk to the Mynock's Haven was eventful only in that several pedestrians gave him a wide berth.

The doors to the cantina were automatic and opened with a _hiss_ that suggested that they had previously served as an airlock. Or a blastdoor. A quick backwards glance at the doors as they closed revealed several scorch marks. An alien with porcine features, presumably the bouncer, was snoring in a small alcove. The inside was dimly lit. The central floor had approximately two dozen tables that looked like they could be used as cover from large caliber AP rounds, accompanied by comparatively flimsily built seats. Directly across from where the SPARTAN stood was the bar itself, managed by a human who looked as though he had been kicked in the face several times by an Elite.

Along the walls were more alcoves with tables. Most of these were occupied, one of them by four Human Leaguers. All of them were intoxicated and attempting to sing along to the recorded music—which, when Tom thought about it, sounded like a Jackal being crushed by an MBT.

The bartender barked out something at him that was subsequently translated into "You gonna stand there 'til closing or ya gonna order somethin'?"

Knowing that leaving because he had been spotted would only make the man suspicious, the Petty Officer nodded. As he crossed the floor the commando shifted his gaze to the menu above the man's head, the HUD overlaying the names and prices in English. Tom quickly compared the costs to the ten credits he had stored in an empty pistol magazine before sitting down at the less populated end of the bar and ordering the second-cheapest ale. The barkeeper muttered something that did not translate before pulling out a mug, filling it, and expertly sliding it down to him.

Tom had never actually consumed alcohol before—SPARTANs, as a general rule, did not. In theory, the augmentations' effects on their metabolism would give them a higher tolerance for the substance than a normal human. Fervently hoping that theory would prove to be reality, he set his helmet on the counter and took a sip.

The taste fell between what the Mess Hall at Camp Currahee had served the lowest performing teams and the seawater on Pegasi Delta. It took a good deal of willpower to keep a straight face and force the beverage down. After that though, it was easier to tolerate—just like the food.

As he sat there, nursing his drink, Tom memorized the layout. The booths with the most privacy, the best defensive positions, best fields of fire—he could guess at what the Lieutenant was planning, and information was always critical. He was the subject of several curious stares from some of the sober acting customers, though whether it was his armor or his obvious military bearing (which he belatedly realized he had not tried to hide) he did not know.

Upon downing the last of the drink, donning his helmet, and leaving what was probably too large a tip, the SPARTAN set off, trying to contact his superior. Who he got was Jerrod, but as the AI was able to create a 3D diagram, it was for the best. By the time Tom returned to Lucy—via a far more circuitous route than he had taken to the Mynock's Haven—the report was complete.

He returned to his watch position while she went to sleep.

0314HOURS, JANUARY 9, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/ CORELLIA

A status light on her HUD turned to amber and Olivia hid herself in the shadows of the alley. Somewhere on the roof of a distant building, Mark had the Oracle scope from his rifle in hand and was using it to alert her to any civilians that might come upon her at an inopportune time. Such as the current situation, when the panels on her armor were recharging.

She carried the scope from Linda's sniper rifle and would act as lookout for her partner when she made it to their next NAV marker; Jerrod had downloaded a map of the city (which they had earlier learned was called Coronet) from the Holonet, combined that with local data on the city, the quantifiable capabilities of the Gammas and their armor to plot a route to the beacon that, thus far, had been true to the AI's assurances of reliability and security.

The one possible flaw in it was that they were required to cut through part of the Selonian enclave to avoid an area that still possessed a highly active night life. The problem with this was that Selonians—one of the Corellian system's three indigenous sentient species, and predominately living in an underground tunnel network—had excellent lowlight vision. Not quite as good as a SPARTAN's, but far better than a normal Human's. In complete darkness, they would surpass the supersoldiers. They were a fairly reclusive species though, so the commandos had opted to deal with quality rather than quantity.

A second after she had taken cover, a pair of red dots—anything without a UNSC IFF was identified as hostile—appeared at the edge of her motion tracker, several more passed before the contacts entered her field of view. As expected, both were aliens; they had short black fur, one was slightly over one hundred eighty centimeters, the other just less than two meters in height. Both were making a low pitching hissing noise. If their body language was similar to Humans, they were laughing. If it was not, then Olivia had no idea.

She remained perfectly still, not even breathing as they passed. Once they had gone beyond the range of her motion tracker, she enabled her armor's recharged panels and quickly made her way across the street. Olivia scaled the building's side with an efficiency that would have been impressive, had anyone been able to view it. She took the scope off of her hip and began searching for Mark. She found him quickly only because she knew where to look; he flashed his status light to tell her that he was ready to move.

Mark made his way down the building's fire escape (at least, that was what the duo believed it to be), vanishing from sight behind a shorter structure, before reappearing at the alley's entrance as a distortion in the air—and even then Olivia could only see him because she knew exactly what to look for.

It was rather easy; no one was looking for them, and the SPARTANs approached the task with the same diligence and precision that they did for everything else. The chances of discovery, barring any variables they did not know of, were remote. As it was, it still took almost an hour and a half for Mark to reach the next waypoint, outside the Selonian Enclave, and another twenty for Olivia to meet up with him; from there the two continued together, the placement of the buildings becoming too erratic for their previous method to work.

Eventually, they found the beacon. The speeder it had been planted in had come to rest in the (unsecured) underground parking lot of an apartment complex. The first thing they had done, of course, was to estimate the fields of vision on the security cameras—they were much larger than their UNSC counterparts; they might have been as they were to show that the area _was_ under surveillance, though the two did not know their capabilities. Only once they were certain they had found a route they could traverse undetected did they make their roundabout way for the speeder.

"Room temperature." Mark observed after viewing the craft through his helmet infrared mode. "It's been here awhile."

"Stay here," Olivia told him, "in case he comes back. I'll recce the building."

The sniper nodded and meandered toward several stacks of crates and a speeder that looked like it had been used for target practice in the nearest corner. As the scout headed back to the exit, she heard Mark mutter over the COM: "I have a feeling it's going to be a long night."

1810 HOURS, JANUARY 11, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR)/CORELLIA

The two Betas had spent the last several days on their information gathering operation and had determined that Leaguers visited the Mynock's Haven on a daily basis, if not always in uniform. Olivia and Mark's quarry had abruptly returned to the mine site earlier in the day; the Gamma SPARTANs had reported that there were too many tenants at the apartment complex at the time to attempt to search his abode for information, but that they would try later.

With a dead end, Fred felt it time to implement his other plan. The night before, he had sent Ash to assist his older comrades—another set of eyes would increase the effectiveness of their crude (though he had to admit, creative) strategy.

The Lieutenant had then brought Kelly (whose faster reflexes would be more useful than Linda's Mark VI if it came to a fight) with him to the bar. They now sat in one of the private booths—which, given that they were in full armor, had been built with something other than Human in mind. From the conversation around them, the Haven's patrons believed them to be mercenaries; and from how no one for three tables in every direction had their back to them, Kelly's general body language and the drumming of her fingers on the tabletop conveyed irritation rather than boredom. Her state of mind was understandable, as they had been in the cantina for the better part of three hours and one could repeat a threat analysis on everyone present only so many times.

The supersoldiers, though, were only support. The actual task was given to Mendez, who, wearing Halsey's glasses and the clothes taken from the reprobate who had thought trying to mug a SPARTAN was a good idea (and that he insisted stank), was positioned near the Leaguers on the other side of the bar. The Chief Petty Officer was to gather as much information as was possible by eavesdropping on their conversation (as people with secrets tended to keep to themselves around SPARTANs). He, Halsey and the IIs had practiced their 'Basic' while the IIIs carried out their recon work; with Jerrod to back him up, he could understand—and, if necessary; carry out—a fairly complex conversation.

There were risks of course, what with the League's dislike of all offworlders (which was typically forgotten amidst its anti-alien stance) and the possibility they had concealed weapons, but between the three of them, it was unlikely anything would be brought to bear that they could not handle—that said, their caution would not have looked out of place while trying to neutralize a pair of Hunters.

Mendez was a career soldier though, not an actor. As Fred watched, a group of three Humans got up from their table and moved towards him. The apparent leader, who possessed a bearing of professionalism that the two following lacked, spoke to the CPO as the others surrounded him. The translation was quickly sent to him by Jerrod.

"_Haven't seen you here before."_

"_Just got here from off world," _was Mendez's response; one they had to go with because his accent would never pass for the locals'.

"_Not many come here anymore."_ The translator software was limited and as a result removed the inflections of the speaker, making it almost impossible to tell whether the comment was merely a statement of fact or a veiled threat and the two SPARTANs were too far away to hear them over everyone else. The fact that the instructor had a poker face like all of those he had trained did not help.

"_That might be why I got such a low price for the trip."_ Fred saw the leader's mouth form into a predatory smile and knew something had gone wrong. He racked his brain for what the mistake could have been.

"_Funny, because the pirates have kept anyone from coming in without a very good reason."_ Fred swore inwardly. They had spent their time looking at the locals, and not why the economy was the way it was.

At this point, one of the lackeys roughly grabbed Mendez by the collar of his jacket. The Lieutenant saw annoyance flash across the leader's face. The Chief Petty Officer saw it too, as his accoster barely got to start his threat before the older man's ale mug made contact with his jaw. An awkward angle to strike from, but judging by the number of teeth that went flying and the now unnatural shape of the bone, the instructor was stronger than he let on.

The third man moved in and Kelly remarked, "They don't stand a chance."

* * *

><p>The second thug tried to grab Mendez and earned only to get an elbow to the throat followed up with the introduction of his face to the tabletop. The leader—who had received at least some professional training—had opted to stand clear and let his hotheaded minions take their beating, the irritation on his face at being interrupted replaced with amusement.<p>

The first one got back to his feet, a small, easily concealed knife in his right hand. If it was the same kind the Betas had acquired, then he would need to treat it more like a standard issue combat knife—from their own experiments (and Jerrod's data), Mendez knew that the weapon vibrated at a frequency that allowed it to cause damage beyond the area it actually hit. Fortunately its wielder, whether enraged, untrained, or both came in with a wide swing; the CPO took a small step back at the last second and the strike fell short. Capitalizing on the opening, he grabbed the man's wrist with his right hand and brought his left knee up to strike his foe's elbow. The joint gave with a sickening _crack_; the unfortunate recipient passing out from the pain before he could scream.

Mendez turned around only to be confronted by the pig-faced alien bouncer. When he had arrived, he had pegged it as the biggest threat; he possessed a longer reach than the alien, but it appeared to have the raw strength and endurance to negate that advantage. In short, not something he wanted to fight.

The bouncer's eyes said Mendez would be leaving immediately, under his own power or by being thrown out. The Leaguer who was not unconscious on the floor saw this as well and spoke up: _"That won't be necessary. My associates attacked this man without provocation—I believe they have had a bit too much to drink."_

The bouncer looked around for anyone who would say otherwise. When no one spoke up, the alien grunted, picked up both men, and slung them over its shoulders.

Once the bouncer had departed and the other customers had returned to their drinks, the interrogator-turned-ally said to him: _"I work for people managing a project that would greatly benefit from someone with your skills. It pays well."_

Mendez took a moment to consider—if he accepted, there was the possibility they would acquire far more information than through their current approach, but the risks increased greatly as well. His gut said to take the offer, an affirmative COM click from the Lieutenant made it official.

"_How much, when, and where?"_ he asked.

The Leaguer smiled. _"We'll discuss your pay once you're on board. Meet me,"_ the man took out a piece of paper (which Jerrod tagged as being called 'flimsiplast') and wrote something on it, before handing it to Mendez, _"here in two standard Corellian days. And I almost forgot—your name?"_

The CPO accepted the paper with a nod. There was no way he was giving out his real name though. _"Bond. James Bond _(5)_."_

It took a lot of willpower to keep a straight face after that.

* * *

><p>(1)—All of this is, of course, canon.<br>(2)—Citing the Yevethan Purge here.  
>(3)—SW communications are done via the FTL Holonet. Few use radio.<br>(4)—Canon. No description, so I'm improvising.  
>(5)—Why the hell not?<p>

**A/N:** I feel I must ask, what is with all the Halo/SW crossovers set in _The Clone Wars _TV show? Do you all have horrible taste or are you all just ignorant? And this is one of the few questions where ignorance is the lesser evil.

**A/N 2:** I am cautiously optimistic about the _Glasslands_ novel—Bungie, as I understand, kept a close eye on the EU works. If 343 continues the trend, they won't let Traviss mess it up like LotF. Unless the Forerunner Trilogy has already done that—I haven't found any copies yet.


	7. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: If I owned _Star Wars_, _Shadow Warrior_ would never have happened. _Halo_ . . . I'd probably throw the multiplayer portion under the metaphorical bus.

**A/N: **Well, I'm back after almost a year. In addition to ostensibly finishing this chapter, I've done some work on the Prologue and Chapter 1; nothing fundamental has been changed, but they both should be much better now (Jon Harper, if you followed the links I gave you over PM a while ago, I've added a little more to both of them).

Responses to reviews:

**[Old Reviews]**

Just a Crazy-Man, MrEmperor, Random Occurance—Thank you, I strive to be accurate.

Kaprikorn - Ancient Storm Lord—I don't hate the setting, I hate that it's almost uniformly the shitty TV show. How many people need to write a fic where their self-insert OC wants to get down and dirty with the Mary Sue of Padawans?

Deadpool949—See above.

Dusel, unnamed anon—Yeah . . . I did that just because I could.

SeanHicks4—EXACTLY! And guess what I'm going to try to do in the sequels.

Bobbish—Mendez trained the SPARTANs. He is awesome by default.

Anonymous—Until someone else writes a fic in a similar vein to mine I shall adhere to my "write when I feel like it schedule."

Hammerchuckery—Thank you. On your technical question . . . those aspects can be rather vague. Let's just sweep the issue under the rug and say the repulsorlifts compensated.

Biosyn—As I replied to you personally, this is for anyone else who is wondering:

-Sequel.  
>-Sequel.<br>-Possibly, but not likely.  
>-Chances are they will at least make a brief appearance.<br>-This falls more into the sequel's realm. Details haven't all been finalized.

ZecoreZecron—1) EXACTLY! 2) It is not that far-fetched. I remember my gunners in _Halo: Reach_ quoting _ANH_, but doing so now would probably paradox the universe out of existence. 3) Thank you.

**[New Reviews]**

Rydan Fall—*scribbles notes*

Chuckles1188—Really? The _same_ language? The same alphabet, yes, but that probably has to do with how making a new language is more work than necessary. That Basic and English could develop separately from each other (or even Basic being accidently imported to Earth via handwave of some sort, since English has changed a lot in 300 years, let alone however far back an actual linguist could trace it) and be almost exactly the same, despite Basic being the primary language of the SW galaxy and used by species with radically different physiology from humans, is _beyond_ ludicrous.

Kelana-ti—Thanks for the compliments; the Mandos and SPARTANs should also share a general air of 'I know a thousand ways to kill you right now, and 991 of them hurt.' beyond superficial the aesthetics.

I believe I responded to everyone else via PM.

Word Count: 2249

* * *

><p>54:4 GRS (18 ABY)<p>

"Well, Colonel . . . I understand we may have another qualified recruit for our cause." stated the somewhat heavy set, bearded man at the head of the table.

Colonel Vak Somoril, formerly of the late (and wholly unlamented by the rest of the galaxy) Imperial Security Bureau, nodded. The norm for recruitment was to bring in prospects, make certain they had no glaring physical or mental deficiencies (or service to the Rebellion), then give them a uniform and some ale. Normal procedure, of course, was for thugs off the street. In the event someone with actual military experience was found, the Hidden Leader (1) required that they be brought to his attention. He was paranoid that they would be Rebel infiltrators trying to bring him down.

To an extent, he was right. New Republic Intelligence had made numerous attempts at inserting operatives to gather data on what they euphemistically referred to as "The Corellian Situation." Unfortunately for the Rebels, the League's own spy network had compromised NRI to an extent and in ways only a few seated at the conference table knew of.

Somoril pulled out a small personal holo-projector, thumbed it on, and slid it down the table to rest in front of the Hidden Leader. A low resolution image of the man in question flickered to life.

"Identified himself as a 'James Bond.' Besides that, all I can say definitively is that _no one_ has heard his accent before—I'd wager Basic isn't his first language, but he can carry a conversation well enough. My contacts on Coruscant haven't been able to identify him, nor have they been able to confirm any more attempts to insert operatives since we shot that freighter down. He's a backwater drifter who knows how to fight." the Colonel summarized.

"And he was willing to join?"

Somoril smiled, "As long as we pay him."

The Hidden Leader relaxed, at least temporarily satisfied that the man was not a spy or an assassin.

"Very well," he said, "bring him into the fold. Standard procedure."

The Colonel gave a brief acknowledgement and left as the Hidden Leader received reports and complaints from the other officers.

1716 HOURS, JANUARY 13, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDER)/ CORELLIA

The SPARTANs, as per usual, had arrived at the meeting place before anyone else. The Lieutenant had put Tom in tactical command and sent him with Mark (who, while a sniper, was no slouch in close quarters) and Olivia to provide backup for Chief Mendez if the need arose. It went without saying that 'provide backup' was a euphemism for 'silence any Leaguer witnesses.'

The order was not a problem for Tom—in addition to the counter insurgency training Beta Company had received; his reluctance to kill other Humans had left him when Insurrectionists were trying to kill him and everyone else he cared about. Gamma though, had neither the training nor such experiences. The youngest SPARTANs had already been on an accelerated schedule because of the Covenant's merciless advance; Commander Ambrose had had to cut it and hope that the guerilla and urban warfare training would be enough to compensate. Team Saber's only combat action had been the running battle through Onyx. Tom trusted them with his life, but he could not help but worry they would freeze on the trigger (it was also the only reason he could think of as to why he had been sent instead of Ash). He hoped they never had to find out.

SPARTANs were generally not prone to waxing philosophic—they were usually too busy with tasks more important than pondering abstracts such as morality. Tasks like keeping themselves and those around them alive. Such prerogatives had not existed back on Onyx and the two Pegasi Delta survivors would often (when they were not so tired they fell asleep they moment they hit their cots) be up late into the night mulling over what they were doing. In the present though, they pulled him out of his thoughts and back to reality. Glancing at the mission clock on his HUD, he knew Mendez was supposed to arrive in just under an hour. The Leaguers would likely show up earlier.

He did not expect Section III level paranoia, but Tom felt that an organization as inclined to making enemies as the Human League would understand the value of reconnaissance. The SPARTANs had done so thoroughly—Olivia had checked out the building and given a detailed description to Mark, himself, and Mendez back at their rudimentary base. The three commandos had then located hiding spots with the best combination of cover, lines of fire, and the ability to storm the building if they had to before taking up watch positions further away from the rendezvous point, where they would hopefully not be detected (or at least ignored) by the Leaguers. They had also determined a fallback position and four different escape routes. They were SPARTANs; nothing was left to chance if they could help it.

"Speeder on approach." Mark's voice was calm. They had only been on Corellia for a few days and they were all adapting to the situation.

Sure enough, the speeder, burnt orange in color with tinted windows and looking far too heavily armored to be civilian, came to a stop against the building; four human men exited the vehicle. Tom increased his helmets magnification to 2x; three of them never bothered to so much as look down the street, while the fourth made a cursory scan of the rooftops before going in himself. The trio of supersoldiers remained deathly still as they had been trained.

_Sloppy, _Tom thought, _very sloppy. Mendez would chew us out for that kind of incompetence. They must be absolutely sure of their own superiority._

Tom flashed his status light twice and began to make his careful way back to his station.

54:4 GRS (18 ABY)

Colonel Somoril's three subordinates had moved to positions roughly evenly spaced around the room they were to recruit "James Bond" in. The Colonel himself stood a good distance from the center to avoid fire from the Imperial Army rejects he had to work with. At the ranges the room dictated, it should have been impossible to miss a man-sized target, but trying to covertly mold a group of thugs and petty criminals into a fighting force with only a handful of experienced personnel and an overabundance of bureaucrats looking over his shoulder—often literally—had left him with great confidence in their ability to fail. The difficulties were the primary reason he wanted to recruit the man from the bar—they had enough sympathizers in CorSec and the other defense agencies to _take_ Corellia, but_ holding_ it, especially when there was a Rebel fleet in orbit, would be far harder.

It did not help that Corellia was one of the last worlds he would want to defend on short notice, even at the height of the Empire. Now, with such limited forces, it was an unending list of problems. Much like Kuat, Dac, and other worlds renowned for starship construction, Corellia's facilities were in orbit; local culture had led to most of the other heavy industry being located there as well—the planet itself was still mostly agrarian with large cities scattered across it. It would be easy enough to maintain a large military (which the League did not have), but all those orbital assets required heavier defenses than an equivalent groundside installation. The only consolation was that the Rebels would be extremely reluctant to damage the yards—and if they wanted them, they would have to board them. Procuring enough vacuum rated suits and fodder to slow them down would be trivial, getting them all up there just slightly less so.

Add to that how much of the orbital defenses and anti-air capabilities—optimized for the fighters and light ships the Rebellion had restricted to for most of the War—had fallen into disrepair since the collapse of Imperial rule, and Somoril was glad he still had several false identities to work with.

Barroom brawlers, refitted landspeeders, and law enforcement starfighters against professional marines, tanks, and Star Destroyers; it would have been _amusing _if he were commanding the latter group.

Still, he knew the man whose alias was the Hidden Leader was who he claimed to be. The man was arrogant, vindictive, and cruel—the last being something of a virtue in the Colonel's line of work, the other two not so much so—as well as ardently pro-Imperial and unwilling to put himself at risk if he was not sure to get what he wanted. The paranoid part of his mind railed against not knowing every detail of the plan, but if he ever showed up in Imperial space after being AWOL for years with nothing to show for it . . .

The door chimed and Bond came into sight. He was early—enough to make a good impression, but not so much as to seem paranoid. He was either an at least semi-competent intelligence operative or a wandering blaster-for-hire who knew what he was doing. The man had a sabacc face like a career politician, but he could not quite hide the movements of his eyes as he took stock of his surroundings.

Somoril took a moment to clear his throat. "Greetings," he said, affecting the mix of friendliness and professionalism that he had long ago learned was best at lulling the unwary into a false sense of security, "Let us get down to business."

Bond nodded in agreement. "What, exactly, do you need me to do?"

The Colonel took a moment to analyze the man's voice again. As before, he did not recognize the accent, and the way he stressed each syllable confirmed that not only was Basic not his first language, but that he had learned it later in life and from a poor instructor. In that light, being a drifter made a certain amount of sense—career options for someone who was not fluent in the primary language of the galaxy were few indeed.

"Nothing much," he replied smoothly, "I merely seek your services to prepare for when the so-called New Republic decides to crack down on our little protest group. If you except, you'll be paid sixteen hundred in _untraceable_ credits per standard month, alongside food and living quarters. Naturally, I want you to assist us personally if and when fighting breaks out, but it's more important that you teach what skills you can to the League's less . . . _capable_ members."

Somoril could see each of the other men narrow their eyes; the three he had brought with him at the insult, Bond as he seemingly ran the numbers through his head.

"Seems . . . generous." The man stumbled over the second word, but was at least understandable.

_Whatever he paid to learn Basic was too much. Still, he's right,_ Somoril thought, _Corellia's economy is going out the airlock and what I've just offered him would be a windfall to a great many people. Of course, once he's seen what he has to work with, he won't hold that opinion long._

The colonel did not let those thoughts show through his façade; rather, he offered a conspiratorial smile and said "Many of my colleagues believe the New Republic's puppet government will move against us very soon. They want us all to be prepared."

Bond was silent for a few seconds, eyes shifting about, before he nodded. "Right, where do I sign?"

Somoril's smile widened. "Nowhere. Simply return to wherever it is you're staying, gather whatever you plan to take with you, and return to the Mynock's Haven within three standard hours. One of my men will be there to pick you up."

"Deal." The other man said and, with a respectful nod, turned to leave.

"Ah . . . I almost forgot. One final question, Mr. Bond: do you have any associates who would be interested in our offer?" Somoril queried. _Clumsy, _he thought, _but the man isn't enough of a conversationalist to leave many openings._

The man had turned upon being spoken to and the colonel closely watched the mercenary's eyes as he asked the question. In the brief time before he responded—a firm negative—they never went to the left. Since each side of a Human's brain controlled the opposite side of their body, and the right hemisphere was the one used to lie, Bond was recalling information and not fabricating it. Somoril knew that it was trivial for most spies to pass of almost any falsehood as the truth, but hiding a basic physiological reflex was much more difficult. He had met _very_ few individuals whom he knew could do that.

The man was alone and while that meant there was no one else with something akin to his obvious experience to recruit, it also further supported the assumption that he was not a New Republic Intelligence agent.

"A pity," he replied, "but not unexpected. Carry on."

Bond's response was a non-committal grunt and to continue on his way. Every instinct screamed at him to have someone tail the man, but none of his subordinates were skilled to do so successfully and there was no point alienating him now that the Human League had secured his services. If he was genuine.

He would have the Coruscant cell go through the NRI's database once more though, just to be sure.

* * *

><p>(1)—While the Hidden Leader's real name would be easily found by reading the Corellian Trilogy or looking it up on Wookieepedia, those who aren't familiar with the SW EU (ie, all of you) wouldn't appreciate the ramifications at present.<p>

**A/N: **I'm not entirely happy with the dialog, but I'm going through them all and revising them, so I'll fix it in due time (Chapter 2 was _supposed_ to be done as well, but then I started changing Q9-X2's lines . . .).


End file.
